


Of Dali Masks and Lingering Touches

by 3leni



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gandia is an asshole, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, mentions of guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28527054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3leni/pseuds/3leni
Summary: His touch lingers, and he surprises you by faintly stroking his thumb back and forth against the fabric of your clothed shoulder, beneath your fingertips. You let him, your need for comfort bordering onunbearable.
Relationships: Denver | Daniel Ramos/Original Female Character(s), Denver | Daniel Ramos/Reader, Denver | Daniel Ramos/You
Kudos: 4





	Of Dali Masks and Lingering Touches

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @3leni

Denver’s eyes are on you the moment your feet cross the bathroom’s threshold. Gandia is still at large – most likely plotting his _pièce de résistance_ , nothing more noteworthy in a future job interview than successfully stopping the notorious gang of robbers that twice terrorized Spain and its citizens.

You nod in acknowledgement as you step in the vast room, your comrade's tense shoulders and clenched jaw more telling than any response he would’ve given had you asked him how he was. His lips are pulled into a thin line, arms crossed as he’s leaning against the couch’s arm, his weapon long discarded on the cushions. You leisurely strut over to him, plopping down on the couch beside him.

He strains his neck downwards to look at you, your hand covering the upper half of your face as you sigh, the day’s events finally taking a toll on you. “We’re going to find him.” 

The palm covering your distressed face drops, your eyes finally meeting his. “Are we? Because given the situation at hand, I think _he’ll_ be the one finding us.” 

He exhales, “I know you’re not the epitome of positiveness, but can you work with me here for a minute?” A small chuckle escapes him despite the odds, his eyes shifting straight ahead – staring at the stalls – a faraway look accompanying his gaze.

He's aware of the odds, the element of surprise that Gandia currently possesses – _Tokyo, as well_. They have zero clue about his or the governor’s panic room whereabouts. Hell, the fucker could be lurking in the vents above them right now. 

Yeah, he’d rather not think about that.

The only thing he’d like to focus on – while he still has the chance – is your presence beside him. You two, or anyone really, haven’t had a moment of peace or privacy in days. Between taking care of Nairobi, working with the gold or guarding the hostages, you haven’t been able to just – _be_ , for a considerable amount of time.

 _And, all you both need right now, is to just_ be. 

His hand lands on your shoulder softly, _carefully_ , and gives it a comforting squeeze. Your heart swells in its confined space beneath your ribs, the gesture affecting you more than you’d like to admit. Knowing he’s comfort-deprived more than any of you, not all your friends seeing past his tough façade, you gently place your hand on top of his, still lingering on your shoulder.

From an outsider’s perspective, the view of your touching hands might even seem amusing – his large, calloused palm engulfing your shoulder, almost as a whole, and on top of it yours, half the size, covering it like a petite blanket.

His touch lingers, and he surprises you by faintly stroking his thumb back and forth against the fabric of your clothed shoulder, beneath your fingertips. You let him, your need for comfort bordering on _unbearable._

“Okay, I’ll try.”

It’s barely a whisper, but he hears it nonetheless. He’s calm – calmer than he was when he entered the room – and he can’t help but ponder on your ability to so easily put him at ease. Your eyes are focused on the bathroom stall's door design, taking in the details, and his are focused on your profile, also taking in every small detail and imperfection. He focuses on your brows – the way they furrow when you’re stressed, which, _you are_. The curve of your nose, your heated cheeks–

The room feels stuffy, you tell yourself, that’s why.

_Say it like you mean it._

When you shift your eyes to look at him, he abruptly breaks his gaze. He looks flustered, you notice, pride filling your chest. _You_ , making _Denver_ , flustered – it’s ironic, really. You’re simply lucky he hasn’t – _you pray to God he hasn’t_ – caught on to the way your gaze always seems to linger a little more than necessary, or the way your heartbeat elevates when he’s doing a thing as simple as brushing his shoulder with yours.

What you’re blissfully unaware of is the fact he’s trapped in the same, _inescapable_ , situation as you. And, so, when you turn your head in his direction – he’s mortified.

Mortified, because he got caught staring. Mortified of the intimacy of the position you’ve found yourselves in. Mortified, because even though every nerve in his brain is telling him to pull away his hand from underneath yours, to put some distance between your bodies – _he doesn’t want to._

So, there you both remain – hands entwined and impossibly close.

Truth be told, anyone can walk in right at that moment, and it would not matter. Because, despite your heart being closer to leaping out of your chest every second that passes – you are doing nothing wrong. All this is, is two partners comforting each other during a difficult time. Nothing suggestive, nothing romantic, nothing _more_ and nothing less.

_At least, that is what both of you keep telling yourselves._

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for dropping by!


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